


In The Woods Somewhere

by vverra



Series: In the Woods Somewhere [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Budding Love, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform, is it really magic? idk, non-graphic mentions of death, photojournalist!geno.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vverra/pseuds/vverra
Summary: Geno had been wandering for three hours when he stumbled upon the gate. It’s presence caught him off guard, there hadn’t been any sign of possible inhabitants up until he’d taken a step through some particularly dense firs and came face to face with the looming front of a rusted, wrought iron gate. He puts his hand on the front and gives a tentative push.And you know, honestly, the gate shouldn’t have opened if it didn’t want strangers wandering inside of it





	In The Woods Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was supposed to be my contribution to the sidgenophotochallenge back in February but then the semester hit me hard and I never finished it. Recently I’ve been trying to write more and thought you know what? fuck it. I’m going to finish it and post it anyway. So, here it is! It's un beta'd and barely proofread so please excuse the little things :) enjoy!

Geno had been wandering for three hours when he stumbled upon the gate. It’s presence caught him off guard, there hadn’t been any sign of possible inhabitants up until he’d taken a step through some particularly dense firs and came face to face with the looming front of a rusted, wrought iron gate. 

It was easily ten feet tall and when he looks from his left to his right, he can tell it stretches as far as he can see in both directions. It doesn’t make sense for it to be here, not in the middle of the woods, miles from the nearest town. Geno had poured over his maps and travel guides cover to cover in preparation for this trip and nowhere in them did it mention an eerie gate in the middle of nowhere he should be on the lookout for. He couldn’t even see what it was guarding because immediately on the other side was more trees, like someone had just plopped the gate down in the middle forest, cutting off one part from another. 

He should turn around. He should turn around and go back the way he came and hike in a different direction, putting the gate far from his mind. But Geno isn’t one for doing what _ should  _ be done, so he puts his hands on face of the gate and gives a tentative push. 

And you know, honestly,  the gate shouldn’t have opened if it didn’t want strangers wandering inside of it, Geno rationalizes as the metal doors open up in front of him. They’re clearly weathered and rusted, but make no sound as they easily swing out of his way, but Geno doesn’t move his feet. Maybe the gate was keeping something inside? If he ventures in and is eaten by some secret mutant animal that the Canadian government was hiding out here in the remote Alberta wilderness, will anyone find his body? Tell his family? Submit his latest drafts to his editor?

Stupid, he thinks, he’s an award-winning photojournalist, if there is something in there worth putting a gate around, Geno wants to see it too. 

So he steps forward past the threshold of the gate and for a moment the world tilts around him, leaving him disorientedly sick. His head spins and his stomach flips and he forgets why he’s walking in this direction at all. He feels an urge to turn around and walk back the way he came so strong that he actually turns his body in that direction. But as quickly as it comes, it’s gone and Geno no longer feels the urge to run. He feels groggy for a moment, but after rubbing his temples for a few seconds,  it clears. He decides not to dwell on it and pushes onward through the trees. Must have just been a moment of nerves.

After only a minute of ducking around branches and getting endless amounts of pine needles in his hair, Geno comes out into a clearing. He shakes out his hair and wipes off his shoulders and when he looks up,  he’s stopped in his tracks again. Sitting at the end of a long winding path is a building. A tall, concrete building with barely any windows and, as far as he can tell, only one set of doors that the path in front of him leads directly to. 

Geno tries to fit the style of the building into one of the categories of buildings he’s familiar with: school, hospital, church, prison… it doesn’t quite look like any of them. If he had to pick one, he’d say prison, with its lack of windows and doors, but if he was being honest that doesn’t quite fit either. 

He shakes his bag off his shoulder to retrieve his camera from inside and snap a picture of the outside. He’d have to remember to take one of the gate when he left this place, too. 

The camera lense shutters as he snaps a few quick pictures and checks them before slipping the strap around his neck and trudging up the brick walkway to the double metal doors that waited at the end. Each door has a small, eye level window in the center, but the glass is mirrored and Geno can only see himself reflected as he approaches. 

Geno isn’t sure getting passed these doors will be as easy as the gate but he tries simply turning the handles anyway. They don’t budge, didn’t even move when he tries to jiggle them. Geno tries  kicking them in next, like he’s seen in cop movies but that only leaves him with a throbbing foot and still no way in. He picks up a rock and chucks it at the glass, but all that does is send it ricocheting back at him as he dive out of the way to avoid getting hit. 

Now he’s frustrated. Geno stands there, hands on hips, breathing hard from his latest attempt to run and shoulder the door in, desperately trying to figure out another way into this place because now his interest has peaked even more and there is no fucking way he isn’t getting inside. And so he pauses and only comes up with one, simple, stupid thing he hasn’t tried.  

Geno takes a step forward and knocks on the door, three times in quick succession. 

“Hello,” he calls out in English. “Anybody home?” 

Nothing happens right away, but that’s to be expected because, if he’s being honest, that was the stupidest plan he’s come up with yet. 

But only a moment later he feels the air shift around him again, like cool breeze tickling the back of his neck. Something in the air was hovering just out of his sight and deliberating; thinking, trying to figure him out. And then, suddenly the lock clicks and Geno hesitantly tries the door. It opens

Okay. Fuck. That worked and he really hadn’t expected it to and now he’s going into the building and he can’t rationalize why because everything about this place seems a little left of center. 

But on the other hand, he came here looking for adventure and something to write about that was exciting and new and this is nothing if not that. So, against his better judgement he presses on. 

Unsurprisingly, the inside is just as eerie as the outside. It’s full of long, darkly painted hallways lined with steel doors that won’t open to him, even when he knocks nicely again. He wanders through them, taking pictures of anything he finds interesting. He hits light switches as he goes, but the glow they give off is old and buttery, like the technology is less than modern. He manages to find a few unlocked ones that allow him to peak inside. 

Most of them look like sparse bedrooms, or prison cells, but more personalized. They have bedside tables with reading lamps on them, comfortable chairs, and writing desks. If this actually had been a prison, it was the chillest prison ever. In one room, labeled  _ M.A.F.  _ on the door, Geno finds letters and children’s drawings scattered on the desk and stuffed into the drawers, like whoever lived in this room had been corresponding with a family who loved them desperately on the outside. He tries to read them, but it’s all in French and he can’t translate so he takes photos of it all and moves on. 

In opposition with the softness of the bedrooms, there are also less friendly spaces further into the building, ones that look like surgical units with tools and equipment Geno has never even seen in the TV dramas he sometimes watches. He comes across one room that has contains nothing but long wooden table in the center beneath a swinging light, criss-crossed with leather straps that look like were made to hold down something much stronger than a human. Geno doesn’t explore that one. 

Another door he tries is unsurprisingly locked, but to its right there’s an observatory window that he can peak through which shows him an entire room that has been burned black, the furniture charred, and scorch marks on almost every surface. 

The more Geno looks around, the less and less he understands what this place is, or was, since it seems to be deserted. There is a dining hall and a gym and a room that looks like a botanical garden. There are ones that look like high school science classrooms and ones that look like they were made for testing nuclear bombs. He takes pictures of it all and makes notes in his notebook along the way. 

At one point he climbs a winding set of metal stairs, his hiking boots clang loudly in the silence of the space. As he nears the top he can see curved walls lined with books. 

A library, he’s found the library. 

Geno pulls books from the shelves and reads their covers aimlessly. There are books of every genre, in as many languages as there are topics found. This is his favorite room so far.  It’s quiet, not in an eerie, abandoned silence way like the rest of the place, but in a peaceful way. The overhead lights are soft and warm, making him feel cozy and content. Geno wanders around some more, happy to linger in this room. He walks over to a table that’s piled high with books. The rest of the tables are empty with the chairs pushed all the way in, but this one is in disarray, books stacked in messy piles all over the surface.

He picks one up off the top of the pile and leafs through its pages. It’s a history of the French settlements in Eastern Canada. Boring. He puts it down and picks up another: a book about crab fishing statistics in the Atlantic. Even more boring. Geno casually peruses the covers of most of the books on the table and finds them all to be incredibly boring, in his opinion. They’re all about history or nature or war strategy, and, they’re re all incredibly outdated, some published in the late 1890s. 

Geno tosses the book he’s holding back on the table and, as he steps away to investigate another, he feels his foot knock into something below the table. He kneels down and notices a small, brown leather bound book sitting under the table. Geno reaches out to grab it immediately. It’s simply bound with a tarnished  silver lock keeping its contents secret. A diary. He rummages around through the mess on the table but finds no key anywhere in chaos. 

Well, he has already done some major breaking and entering today, this small offense feels like no big deal comparatively. Geno grabs the lock with one hand and yanks as hard as he can to rip it off. 

But, the moment he exerts an ounce of pressure on the lock, he feels himself get shoved in the shoulder,  _ hard _ . He stumbles forward, barely managing to keep his balance and the book in his hand. He whipped around to see who’s there, he thought he was alone in this building, but there’s no one. Just Geno, the books, and a now eerie silence

His heart races in his chest, pushing against his ribs.

“Hello?” He calls out. “Hello, who’s there?” 

No answer. 

Geno gets to his feet, sweat beginning to develop on the back of his neck. Something’s here, in this room with him, he can feel that same tingling in the air, like electricity. But he had definitely been shoved by hands, just as he tried to break the lock and that means whatever’s here has to be at least somewhat human. And whoever it was didn’t want him to be messing with the diary. He grimaces to himself because it seems he has no choice about what he has to do next. 

Geno sets his feet and positions his hands on the diary as if he’s going to yank again. He takes an exaggerated pose to try and make it obvious what he’s about to do.

“I pull this apart if you don’t show yourself,” he says to no one, feeling slightly like an idiot. “Count to three, or will rip in half.” 

Still nothing. Geno breathes out, it’s now or never.. 

“1….2….3.”

As he hits three, he puts an ounce of strength into trying to rip the book when he feels another harder shove from behind him, knocking him to the ground and sending the book flying, but Geno never hears it hit the floor. 

Someone sighs exasperatedly from where he had just been standing. “You know, I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” a soft voice asks. 

Geno gathers himself quickly and rolls onto his back, sitting up on his elbows. Standing directly behind where Geno had been standing is a man. An incredibly attractive man, Geno thinks, sweating a little more.

He’s shorter than Geno, dressed in high waisted, grey pleated trousers and a tight, black shirt tucked in that shows off his broad upper arms and back. His hair is gelled stylishly sleek against his head, but Geno can see some pieces curling up around his ears that had broken free. His face, well the rest of him looked good no doubt, but this is where Geno can’t stop staring. It’s all contradictions; sharp, yet kind eyes and pouty, soft looking lips countered by a strong jaw and nose that somehow make him probably the most beautiful person Geno has ever seen.

Or, atleast, Geno thinks he’s a person. The edges of him are fuzzy, like he isn’t quite solid and Geno doesn’t know what to do with that thought.

He clamors quickly to his feet and takes approximately five steps away from whatever the fuck is happening in front of him. There’s a man here, somewhere where Geno had thought was abandoned and where he was completely alone until moments ago. 

They both stare at each other, sizing the other up before Geno recovers use of his voice.

“You real?” Not the smartest thing he’s ever said, Geno will admit.  But he is still trying to rationalize what the fuck was happening. He had no idea what was going on in this place before and now he’s even less sure. 

The man shifts from one foot to the other. He appears nervous, but of what? Of Geno? Out of the two of them Geno guesses he’s the one who deserves to be the more shocked one here. 

“That’s a hard question to answer,” the man answers. 

“Why hard?”

“It’s a long story.”

Geno gestures around them to the rest of the empty building, they both had time and they know it. The man still looks uncertain so Geno realizes, if he wants answers, he’s going to have to be the one to lead the conversation. 

He takes a small step forward and extends his hand. “I am Evgeni Malkin, Editor and Chief of National Geographic Russia.” 

The man’s eyes widen at the mention of ‘Russia’ and Geno stutters momentarily, he’s used to people treating him with apprehension when they hear his accent and his country’s name, but he’s learned to ignore it. He leaves his hand extended. 

The man stares at it for a moment before he hesitantly reaches out with his own and takes Geno’s hand. The man’s skin is ice cold and Geno just barely manages not to jerk back in shock. 

“I’m Sidney Crosby,” the man offers, “and, I’m sorry-  did you say Russia? I didn’t realize the Soviet’s were still letting people use that name.”

Geno reels back. His thoughts were spinning again; this man, Sidney, still thinks that the USSR is functioning. “Sidney, what year you think it is?” Geno asks carefully. 

“I don’t know,” Sidney say, plainly, “I know it’s no longer the year I know, but I have no way to tell time in here.”

“What is your year?” Geno asks. 

“1951.”

Geno has to sit down at that. He’s speaking with a ghost. Or, some sort of spectral being he isn’t sure the technical word because he’s never met a ghost before. What the fuck. 

“Is 2014,” Geno responds weakly. Sidney’s eyes become as wide as saucers and his jaw drops open. 

“Oh my,” Sidney breathes, “it’s been so long.”

Geno runs hand over his face and thinks of a delicate way to ask what he knows he needs to ask next, but there isn’t really any.

“So you are…,” he trails off hoping Sidney will understand and he won’t have to say it. 

“Dead?” Sidney deadpans, locking eyes with Geno again. “Yes, I suppose so.”  
“Suppose?”

“I don’t think I’m dead, but I’m certainly not alive anymore.”

Geno’s confused. Again. It seems to be a running theme with this place. “I’m not understand. You live here? What is place?” 

Sidney sighs and moves to take a seat next to Geno at the table. He fixes some of the piles Geno messed up while he speaks. 

“I was 10 when I came here. Here,” Sidney gestures all around them, “is The Bettman Research Laboratory for the Evaluation and Treatment of Lusus Naturae.”

Geno stares at him blankly. 

“Freaks,” Sidney supplies, cringing a little. “Mutants. Metahumans, monsters, mutated variants. Whatever else you want to call me, god knows I’ve heard it all.”

“You have super powers? Like X-men?” Geno asks.

“I don’t know what that is,” Sidney answers, blankly. “But, yes, I suppose you could call them ‘superpowers’. We all had ‘powers’ and we  all came here, either by choice or were forced here by the government. My parents sent me after an incident happened at school, my mutation had manifested and someone in my class got hurt. Mr. Bettman showed up at our door a few days later and told my parents all about this great school where I could learn to control myself. Where I’d be safe from myself. And I have-” Sidney stops himself as a wave of pain crosses his expression, “-had a baby sister. They didn’t want to risk anything happening to her, even on accident, so they packed up my things and the next day Bettman brought me here. 

I never left here, nobody did, you weren’t allowed. There were so many security measures in place to ensure that nobody could get out. It wasn’t a prison, but it definitely wasn’t a school like they told my parents. They were more interested in treating us like lab-rats than students, or even humans. We all had identification numbers, I was #87, that we were called instead of our names.”

It looks painful for Sidney to bring this all back up, but he gives it so easily that Geno knows that if he keeps pushing, he’ll get the the whole story of this place. He doesn’t know why Sidney seems to trust him enough to tell him the truth, but maybe he figures it’s been over 60 years, what’s he got to lose?

Geno has know what happened here, what happened to everyone else. 

And it’s like Sidney can read his mind, maybe he can, because he shakes his head regretfully.

“I don’t know what happened here. One moment I was sitting in here, reading, and the next I could feel a shift in the air, like it was turning to acid. And then there was this noise, I can’t describe it because it wasn’t actually a noise, but like the absence of sound. An absolute nothing. And then I woke up, I was here, but not really here. And everyone was gone. Not dead, just like they had never existed at all, their atoms scattered in space.”

Geno’s trying to keep up. He has a million questions racing through his mind, and all at once he can feel someone else in his head, leafing through his thoughts like they’re recipe cards in a box and they’re trying to find their favorite. 

Something must show on his face because the next moment Sidney looks sheepish, a blush creeps across his cheeks, dimmed only slightly by the fuzziness of his appearance. 

“I’m sorry, I can usually do that a lot more discreetly, I guess I’m out of practice.”

Geno nods, a little shaken. “Your power is read mind?”

“Eh, sorta. That’s just part of it. They called it psychokinesis here. I don’t know what it is in Russian but basically is word used for a bunch of abnormalities. Like, I can read minds and move things telepathically and see things that are happening other places simultaneously…” He trails off like he knows he’s rambling, but Geno doesn’t mind. He speaks so animatedly and Geno finds he quite likes the way his lips curve around his words. He looks back to Geno and shrugs. “It’s more complicated, but yeah I can read minds.”

“So you psychic, then.” Geno tries again.

“Yeah, I’m one of them.” Sidney says. 

“Talk to dead people?” 

“No,” Sidney says, immediately. “I couldn’t when I was alive and I can’t now either. I’ve tried, trust me. I thought it might be different since I’m pretty much dead now, too, but still nothing.” 

“So, you not know how you survive when others go poof?” Geno makes a ‘poof’ gesture with his hands because he thinks it’ll make Sidney laugh but instead he cringes and Geno feels a little like an ass. 

“Uh, no, I don’t. I think I saw everything the second before it happened and my powers, instead of dissipating like everyone else, transferred itself to something it knew would be safe. My body is gone but my essence is still here.”

“The diary,” Geno realizes and Sidney nods. He extends his hand and Geno turns to see the diary moving through the air toward Sidney’s outstretched hand. That’s why he never heard it hit the floor, Sidney had stopped it with his mind. 

This was getting weirder and weirder. 

It comes gently into Sidney’s hand and he cradles it in his lap. “I think this is me, or what’s left of me.” He says softly stroking the spine, but then he looks up sharply glaring at Geno. 

“And you tried to rip it apart.”

“I not know!” Geno protests, raising his arms, palms out. “How I’m supposed know you live in there.”

“I don’t live in here,” Sidney explains, “I am here. This is me now and I don’t know what’ll happen if you rip it in half. I might go with it.”

Geno gulps. Well he sure as shit doesn’t want this possible hallucination to go, so he won’t be touching that book if it means he’ll damage it and ruin the magic. And as he’s thinking about that, he realizes something else.

“You’re one who let me in. Unlock door with mind powers”

Sidney laughs softly and nods again. “I was meditating when I felt you come through the gate. You shouldn’t have been able to get past the wards. The redirection magic should have stopped you, made you turn around forget what you saw, but maybe it’s weakening with time and no upkeep. Or maybe something else,” he says eyeing Geno warrily. “But I was bored so I watched you come to the door. I watched you try and kick down a double plated steel door.” Sidney laughs more earnestly at that and Geno wants to be embarrassed but all he can focus on is the way Sidney’s eyes crinkle as he laughs one of the silliest laughs Geno’s ever heard. He stifles it quickly, after the first honk emits, but Geno wishes he wouldn’t be because it’s quickly becoming Geno’s favorite sound. 

“I not have key, Sidney. How I’m supposed to get in?” He asks, amused.

“You shouldn’t be here at all. But you are, and it’s so long since I’ve even heard someone else's voice besides my own.” Sid despairs, his eyes begging Geno to understand and he does. He spends a lot of time by himself and in countries where they don’t speak his native tongue. When he returns to Russia, for however short a time, he always lets the sounds of his homeland wash over him and soothe the rough spots that develop from time away. He can’t imagine what it’s been like to be completely solitary for 63 years. 

“You try and leave?” Geno asks.

Sidney nods, again. “Yeah, I tried the moment I woke up but I can’t leave the grounds without my diary and I can’t stay solid enough for very long to hold it. I could levitate it, but what would people think when they saw it? What if people were afraid and destroyed it?” He looks panicked and again, Geno feels sympathy well up in his chest for this stranger he barely knows. 

Then, Geno gets an idea. It might be a stupid idea, a rash one, but it’s an idea. And if Sidney hasn’t read it from his mind, he can probably read it from Geno’s facial expression because he’s pretty sure his glee is plastered across his face. Sid looks wary immediately. 

“I don’t know, Evgeni,” he starts, “You really want to do that?”

“Yes,” Geno hastens, cutting Sidney off. “Yes. Is perfect plan.”

“I’m not sure, it sounds dangerous…”

“Sidney, is perfect. I take book with me. I look after book and keep you safe with me. I take you away from sad, empty library.”

Sidney bites his lip, and it’s kinda hot but Geno won’t be deterred. He wants this. Badly. He wants to take Sidney away from here and bring him home with him, bring him wherever his travels take him next. Show Sidney all the things he never got hidden away in this place like a monster. They can keep each other company from now on.

Geno wants that. 

Sidney’s deliberating, Geno can tell he’s doing some serious weighing of the pros and cons in his head. Cataloguing the possible dangers, all the things that could go wrong and seeing if it’s worth it. He gets a faraway, dreamy look in his eyes as they slide out of focus momentarily. Geno stiffens because he doesn’t know what’s happening, is he fainting? Can semi spectral beings even faint?

But when he comes back to, he looks at Geno and a wide smile breaks across his face. 

“Okay.” He says, simply, “okay, let’s try it, Evgeni.”

“Geno,” Geno corrects. “Call me Geno. Is nickname.”

“Sid,” he says in return, gesturing to himself, smile going a little crooked as it somehow widens even more.

This is going to be amazing. 

They go to what was apparently Sid’s room. He doesn’t want to take any of his things, there aren’t many personal effects in the room to take. But he does make Geno grab a small address book from inside one of the desk drawers. 

“My parents old address is in there. I know it’s kind of presumptuous considering your doing me a favor, and like, we don’t have to or anything-”

“We find them. Find sister. See what happened to them,” Geno promises and he means every word. Sid looks at him with eyes so full of gratitude Geno feels inadequate to deserve it all. He decides they’ll do that before he leaves Canada again. 

Then they’re off. They leave the way Geno came in and Sid doesn’t look anywhere but straight ahead as they pass through the halls in silence. Geno doesn’t speak either, just follows along in silence. 

Once they’re passed the doors, Sid releases a breath that is more symbolic than probably strictly necessary. He smiles shyly at Geno and they continue toward the gate. This plan hasn’t worked yet, they aren’t out of the woods. 

When they reach the threshold of the gate. They stop. Geno looks over at and watches as Sid flexes his hands at his sides and nods silently without turning toward Geno. But he gets it.

Geno, with Sidney’s diary clasped firmly in his hands, takes a tentative step over the gates invisible border. Nothing happens. No dizziness, no fear, no chill running down his back this time. 

“Your turn,” he says patiently. He’ll wait however long until Sid is ready. 

And then Sidney takes a slow, measured step across the gate to be by Geno’s side. Nothing happens. 

Geno doesn’t know if he was expecting a whoosh of energy or for something exciting and magical to happen, but there’s a resounding nothing. And, maybe that’s better. 

Sid is smiling at him, now, like he hung the moon and Geno decides that’s just as good. 

“Okay,” Sid says, brightly, “lead the way, Mr. National Geographic.”

Geno barks out a laugh and leads them back the way he came from only hours ago. 

He’s going to write a beautiful piece about these woods in Alberta. It’s going to detail the luscious landscape and never ending expanse of nature waiting to be explored. He’s going to write about the rocks and the rivers and the trees and the animals. But he’s going to leave out the gate and the mysterious building within. He’s going to keep the library and what he found there a secret. He’ll hold that close to his heart for as long as he can.        

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of making this a series? Idk we'll see 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr by the same name @vverra, I'm not super active but I'm trying to use it more! 
> 
> Also, I'm looking for a beta for a much longer work if anyone is interested or knows of someone who might be, message me :)


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